


Tumblr Ficlets

by madameofmusic



Series: Tumblr Fic [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, rare pair hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-08-24 16:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8379364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madameofmusic/pseuds/madameofmusic
Summary: Just a series of tumblr ficlets I've done for Check! Please.





	1. Whiskey/Tango

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> birkholtzoluransi on tumblr made [this post](http://birkholtzoluransi.tumblr.com/post/147315011190/whiskey-and-tango-both-have-crushes-on-each-other), and I love Whiskey/Tango (taskey? wango?? tangey??? who knows) so, so much, so I answered it.

Whiskey is actually _fascinated_ by how easily Tango asks questions, and interacts with the team, because his entire life, every time he needed to speak in front of more than two people, his throat closed up, and it was an easy minute of debating with himself before he got up the courage to speak. Eventually, anything he didn’t understand he’d try to parse from other’s conversation or Google searches.

And Tango? Doesn’t understand how easily Whiskey seems to _accept_ things. He never asks any questions, which is how Tango understands the world around him

Maybe they were a little jealous of one another at first, but then they realized after a couple quiet conversations walking from team breakfast to their shared Calculus class that they’d make a good team. And that’s what they do now. Tango helps Whiskey talk, and Whiskey answers Tango when he can, and shows him how to get the most out of Google searches when he can’t so he doesn’t get chirped so much for all of his questions

And maybe one day all Tango does is quietly stare at Whiskey. Maybe one day during their sophomore year. It starts at the Haus that afternoon and doesn’t end until they’re walking back to their shared suite that night. When Whiskey finally asks what’s up, Tango looks at him for a second, the look that prefaces a question he’s embarrassed about asking but has to anyway,

“Can I kiss you?” 

This is the first time Whiskey doesn’t know how to answer since they met. He can feel his jaw drop

Tango winces, and frowns. “Sorry, I-”

Whiskey kisses him first. He hopes that’s a good enough answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always accepting prompts on [my tumblr](http://whiskeytangofrogman.tumblr.com/)


	2. Fry Guy/Chickens Fish Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the worst thing I've ever written. From [here](http://whiskeytangofrogman.tumblr.com/post/150847143348/i-have-a-rarepair-for-you-guys).

Jason Fry *hates* hockey players. They throw small pies at him. They spill food on him. And Jason’s taking a photography elective, their captain does every project on his linemate, or geese. Who even _takes_ pictures of geese??

They’re loud, they’re obnoxious, and their sport isn’t even that cool. In fact, Jason might even like lacrosse more than hockey, and only douchebags like lacrosse.

Jason Fry, of course, ends up eating his solemn vow to never talk to another hockey player unless absolutely necessary. And all because of Jack Fucking Zimmermann and his stupid team.

He’s at a party when he meets Albin Nilsson. He’s standing off to the side, when this guy, this hulking monster with a four-inch long scar down the side of his cheek, looking like menace incarnate, walks up to him, and asks him a question.

“What?” Jason’s too caught up in wondering who this guy killed to get that kind of scar to have caught what the guy says.

“What is dogfish?” Jason frowns, looking at the beer the guy is holding. It’s a bottle of Dogfish Head, a nicer brand then has any right to be at a party, but it is the hockey house, and they do very little of anything normal. Any other night, Jason wouldn’t even be here, but he’s not gonna deny the free alcohol that comes after a win of their’s, though.

“It’s a beer, man.” Jason says, the words slow, confused.

The man stares at him. “Yes. But what is dogfish? Why do we drink heads?”

Jason can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of him. “I dunno. It’s probably a pun on catfish.”

The man nods, and then takes a long swig from it. “Does not taste like catfish?”

Jason grins, wide, and then claps the guy on the shoulder. “Let’s get you a Coors.”

They talk after that, the guy - Albin “my teammates calls me Nilser” - finding he likes Coors a lot more than Dogfish, and Jason finding he likes this random guy a lot more than he has any right to.

And then Kent Parson walks in, and demands Albin leave with him, muttering something about a game even though the guy looks like he’s going to cry. And Albin turns to him, and demands his phone. Jason holds it out, and Album types in his number, and then hands over his can of banquet.

“Got to go and help Parser. I will talk to you though?” Jason nods, and smiles at him, still confused, even moreso now because how does Albin know the best hockey pleased in the league, unless he’s-

_Oh._

A hockey player too.

Jason curses his luck, and damns the hockey team.

A few months later though, when he’s a season ticket holder for the Aces, and he’s spent three of the last four weekend in Las Vegas, he’s begrudgingly maybe, kind of…. thanking them. Because without their dumb parties and their stupid house, he wouldn’t have met Albin Nilsson. And _that_ would be a shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](http://whiskeytangofrogman.tumblr.com)


	3. BittyParse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From [here](http://whiskeytangofrogman.tumblr.com/post/158293065203/i-know-ive-kissed-you-like-ten-times-but-just).

Kent walks through the door and tries to take his shoes off as quietly as possible. His keys click against the table next to the entryway and he winces, freezes. It’s past two in the morning, and he’s trying not to wake up Eric.

“Kent?” Eric’s voice echoes through the stillness of their apartment. 

Kent trods through the door, thanking the heavens for whatever made him refuse that last drink, because he’s buzzed, but not drunk. That’ll make the conversation he has to have easier. 

Eric’s laying on the couch, TV on low as it plays something on Food Network. “Hey. Why are you still up?” 

Eric sits up, and pauses the TV. “I was waiting for you.” He gives Kent a strange look. “Are you drunk? I thought you were DD’ing tonight.” 

Kent steps closer, collapses onto their love seat. “I took a taxi.” 

Eric frowns, eyes tracing him up and down. “What happened?’ 

Kent sighs. “Nothing we should talk about right now.” His head is swimming from stress, and from alcohol.

Eric comes over, and kneels in front of Kent, takes Kent’s hand in his own. “Tell me, please?”

Kent leans forward, and presses his other hand through his hair, gripping hard where his fingers thread around his carefully gelled hairdo. “I’m being traded.” 

Eric sucks in a breath. “Where?”

“Kings. I have to go talk to the GM tomorrow to make sure but…” He trails off, and avoids looking at Eric. “I got a call from my agent. I’m so sorry.” 

Eric leans in, cups Kent’s cheek. “Why?”

Kent puts a hand over Eric’s own. “You just got your job last year, and I don’t want to make you leave it, but I don’t think I could do it without you-”

Eric laughs. “Of course you can. And uh,” he smiles, and squeezes Kent’s knee. “I have some good news? If you want to hear it.” 

Kent nods. “Of course.” 

“The deal went through today, and I’ll have my own show. Filming starts in a few months.” At Kent’s shocked look, he continues. “I was up because I was worrying how to tell you. But, I mean-”

“If I’m going to the Kings, then it works.” Kent feels a wave of relief wash over him like he hasn’t felt since his name was called at the draft. “Eric-”

Eric climbs into his lap, and wraps his arms around his neck. “Kent. Kiss me?” 

Kent leans up without a word, pulling Eric firmly against him. He’s elated, thrilled that his worst fear, that Eric would say no to coming with him, hadn’t come true. 

Eric stays like that for a while before leaning back up, and staring at Kent with something that looks soft, loving. It makes Kent’s chest hurt. 

“I know I’ve kissed you like, ten times,” Kent says, thumb brushing over the ridge of Eric’s hip where it peeks out from underneath his tank top. “But just like, another ten, please?” 

Eric laughs, leans back in, and everything’s okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Drop me a line (or a prompt)](http://whiskeytangofrogman.tumblr.com/)


End file.
